The Monarch Who Chose Herself
Kristina of Sweden and the Crown She Refused
“I was born free, lived free, and will die free.”
Hello brave defenders, first-timers, and familiar hearts,
Welcome back to the tea table, where truth is steeped slowly, courage is served hot, and history is always brewing. Whether you're returning for another sip or settling in for the first time, thank you. Thank you for your presence, your attention, your voice. You don’t need to be anyone but yourself here. This is sacred ground for the unruly, the radiant, the unafraid.
Our last two pieces focused on the very real-world impact of the hatred that is felt for the queer community. We looked at the tragic consequences and the lives lost. We spoke the names of Marsha, Bobby, Ramón, Matthew, and others who were taken from us far too soon. We heard their stories and made room for grief and storming rage. Yet storms pass—and today, friends, we examine the truth that comes in the calm that follows: once you accept that the hate is inevitable, regardless of action, then you are left with an astonishing kind of freedom.
Today’s story is not wrapped in tragedy. It is not draped in mourning. It is a tale of shimmering rebellion, of choosing the self and the world found within over all—even over a crown. Today’s tribute is about a woman who lived her life long before Pride ever existed, saying in every moment, with every act: if they will condemn me no matter what I do, then I shall live exactly as I am.
Let us step back—not just decades, but centuries. Today we walk into a royal court not gilded with conformity, but thrumming with contradiction and brilliance. A court of artists and thinkers, philosophers and poets, with a King unlike any other...
Let us meet King Kristina of Sweden.
👀 The Crown and the Question
Kristina was born in 1626 to King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden and Maria Eleonora of Brandenburg. Her birth was not the event the court had hoped for—they wanted a male heir—but her father was not a man to ignore reality. Gustavus declared that his daughter would inherit the throne, a radical and unprecedented move. She would be educated and prepared as his successor—not as a wife, but as a sovereign.
Upon her father's death in battle when she was six, the weight of monarchy fell on her small shoulders. Raised among scholars and statesmen, Kristina grew into a ruler whose intellect dazzled and unnerved the court. She was granted the title “King,” though a regency governed until she came of age. In 1644, she took full control at her coronation—styled as king, though generally referred to as queen.
This was no ceremonial rule. Kristina governed Sweden during the height of its imperial power. She insisted on surrounding herself with scholars, philosophers, and artists. Her court shimmered with intellectual brilliance, earning her the nickname Minerva of the North. French philosopher René Descartes was brought to Sweden at her invitation and became her personal philosophical tutor—he would later perish there, still in her service. She encouraged arts and letters, championed science and education, and instituted the nation’s first countrywide school ordinance.
Politically, she navigated a complex and divided realm. Her reign followed the devastating Thirty Years’ War, during which class tensions were high. She managed to prevent those tensions from boiling into civil war, granting new privileges to Swedish towns and investing in national manufacturing, mining, and trade.
Yet her court was also famously extravagant—something her Protestant advisors disdained, and her nation could not long sustain. But Kristina refused to bend to expectation. She dressed in men’s clothing. She rode, fenced, and cursed. She confided in her closest companion, Ebba Sparre, a noblewoman of renowned beauty whom Kristina affectionately called “Belle.” The two shared a bed and exchanged letters that pulsed with romantic and emotional depth. Their closeness scandalized the court—and thrilled the queen.
She would not marry. Not for alliance. Not for dynasty. Not even for God.
“I could not bear to be used like the peasant uses his plow,” she once said of heterosexual marriage.
When the pressure to conform became unbearable, she did the unthinkable:
She abdicated.
At twenty-eight years old, Kristina gave up the throne. She left the kingdom. She chose herself. Despite the opposition of her advisors and the danger of traveling through Denmark disguised as a man—no small risk given tensions between the countries—this author can only imagine the smile on her face, reveling in her newfound freedom.
✨ The Monarch in Exile
Kristina’s departure sent tremors through every court in Europe. A queen who would not marry? A monarch who walked away from power? She offered no explanation—and perhaps she never owed one.
After converting to Catholicism, she arrived in Rome, where she became one of the most dazzling figures of the Baroque age. She was granted residence in the Palazzo Farnese and received a pension from the Vatican. She held favor with Pope Alexander VII and Pope Clement IX, whose political and spiritual circles she influenced deeply.
In Rome, Kristina turned her energies toward culture and learning. She supported the arts and engaged in philosophical discourse, hosting salons that would become legendary. She helped shape early intellectual circles tied to what would become the Accademia dell’Arcadia, an institution that still echoes today in artistic and literary tradition.
During this time, she formed a particularly close friendship with Cardinal Decio Azzolino, a powerful figure within the Roman Curia. Their correspondence was frequent, personal, and deeply affectionate. Whether their relationship was romantic or simply emotionally intimate remains debated—but for Kristina, it was another bond lived without apology.
She continued to pursue political influence, seeking the throne of Naples and later making an ambitious—if unsuccessful—bid for the Polish crown. She traveled widely, holding court in France, in the Papal States, in Naples, and in her memories of Sweden. She became mythic.
In 1657, a crisis struck. Kristina ordered the execution of her equerry and rumored confidant, Marchese Gian Rinaldo Monaldeschi, at the palace of Fontainebleau. She claimed he had betrayed her—perhaps revealing secrets of her finances or lovers. The execution, carried out in front of her horrified courtiers, shocked Europe. Though she defended the act as one of royal justice, the scandal damaged her standing and weakened her political ambitions.
She returned to Rome quietly this time, taking up residence in the Palazzo Riario. There she adorned the walls with tapestries by Grimaldi and paintings by Titian, Raphael, and Michelangelo. Her private art collection rivaled Catherine the Great’s. Her friend Gian Lorenzo Bernini attempted to give her a bust of christ that she turned down—he gifted it to her in his will.
In the mid-1660s, Kristina returned briefly to Sweden to secure her inheritance and settle financial matters. But tensions rose once again. Pressured by Protestant clergy and her former councilors, she was forced to officially abdicate—again—and to flee a second time. Once more, she left in disguise, her crown traded for freedom.
Back in Rome, she founded the Tor di Nona Theater, one of the city’s first public opera houses. Its performances were grand, decadent, and controversial. The Church condemned the theater’s sensuality, but Kristina invited bishops to dine alongside the very singers they disapproved of. If she couldn’t silence their judgment, she would make them hear her music.
She supported composers like Alessandro Scarlatti, who dedicated his first opera to her. She defended religious minorities, condemned the persecution of French Huguenots, and publicly stood by the imprisoned mystic Miguel de Molinos, even as the Inquisition tried to silence him.
Despite her political dreams fading, Kristina continued to advise, to collect, to live fiercely—no less a queen in exile than she had been with a crown.
She died in 1689 at the age of sixty-two, likely from pneumonia. She was granted one of the highest honors available to a woman of her time: burial in the Grotte Vaticane beneath St. Peter’s Basilica. Only three women in history have been so interred. She had wished for a simple funeral, but those she left behind gave her a regal procession befitting the head of a cultural state, if not a political one.
She left behind a library, a legacy, and a legend that could not be silenced.
👑 A Queen Without Apology
Was she queer? History has tried to blur that truth.
In her own time, her love of women was weaponized—used to paint her as unnatural and unfit. Later historians sanitized her, reducing deep love to friendship and sexual autonomy to eccentricity. They praised her intellect but hushed her intimacy. They lauded her diplomacy while excising her defiance.
This is not respect. It is grey-washing—the act of muting history until it is inoffensive.
But Queen Kristina was never neutral. She was not a compromise. She was a blaze across the northern sky—sprawling, sovereign, and unrepentant.
Her writings and letters make clear: she loved both men and women. She rejected marriage. She burned to remain free. Her relationship with Ebba Sparre was no passing flirtation. It was public, romantic, and deeply emotional. They shared a bed. They wrote in the language of lovers. The court knew. And so did she.
She lived, entirely and gloriously, as herself.
🌈 What Her Legacy Teaches Us
Queen Kristina was not a gay activist. She did not march in the streets or carry a rainbow banner. But she lived. Boldly. Honestly. Unflinchingly.
She could have stayed queen. She could have bowed her head, married a man she did not love, played the part. Had she done so, she might have ruled longer, died celebrated in cathedrals, and been carved into the clean marble of “acceptable” history.
But she chose something harder—and holier:
She chose herself.
In a world that still rewards conformity and punishes difference, Kristina’s defiance reminds us that authenticity is its own revolution. Like Ramón Novarro, whom we honored earlier this Pride, she didn’t set out to be an icon—but by living her truth, she became one.
She teaches us that survival is not enough. We must thrive. We must fill our courts and corners with laughter and irreverence. We must be brave enough to choose the life that lets us look in the mirror and smile, no matter the cost.
Her story dares us to resist silence in exchange for safety. To challenge the narratives that demand we shrink. For every time we are told to be smaller, Kristina’s life shouts: Be vast.
For every time we are asked to be palatable, she answers: Be unforgettable.
Queerness has always existed—not only in shadow, but in splendor.
Not just as resistance, but as radiance.
In a time when our would-be Nero roars for war—just as Kaiser Wilhelm once treated people like toy soldiers on a map—those who live out loud, who push for understanding, are needed more than ever.
Kristina knew she would always be an outsider. A King without a crown. A philosopher with a passion for art. A lover of men—and women. A woman whose gender expression defied all standards. She was never willing to shrink herself, not even for a throne.
So this week, friends, take this to heart:
If, no matter what you do, there will be grief, offense, and rage...
Why not be yourself? Why not be free?
Until our Next Bold Move,
~Lady LiberTea ✨🫖
A Sovereign Call to Action
Queen Kristina teaches us that true sovereignty begins when we refuse to surrender our inner truth for outer approval. If her life stirred something in you—be it curiosity, courage, or kinship—let that spark light a fire. Here's how you can carry her legacy forward:
1. Embrace Your Own Uncompromising Self—And Then Make Yourself Heard
Kristina refused every script handed to her. This week, defy a role you were never meant to play. Dress how you wish, speak what you believe, love who you love. If it’s going to scandalize someone no matter what—make sure it’s the truth that does it.
And while you’re standing in that truth, take a moment to speak up beyond your own court: call your representatives using the Five Calls app. Whether it’s the hateful budget attacks on LGBTQ+ resources, the brewing war drums aimed at Iran, or whatever injustice tugs at your spirit—raise your voice like a sovereign. Be bold. Be heard.
2. Support Queer Spaces That Celebrate Art, Intellect, and Identity
Kristina’s court was a salon of scholars, artists, and outcasts. Help build that world today. Fabulosa Books is a queer-owned bookstore where every online purchase helps get banned and queer books into the hands of teens who need them most. Fill your shelves with resistance—and help fill theirs with hope.
3. Challenge the Grey-Washing of LGBTQ+ History
So much of Kristina’s life was sanitized by later historians. Find one historical figure this month whose queerness was erased—and tell their story. Share it in your circles. Speak their name aloud. Help re-thread the rainbow into our past. If you don’t feel comfortable sharing, feel free to share this post—let her story inspire others.
~ L.L. ✨🫖
Reading this piece felt like sipping history through a chalice of fire and honey. Each word carried weight, each sentence rang like a bell in the vaulted chamber of the past, calling forth not only the facts of Queen Kristina’s life but the untamed spirit that lit them. As a poet, I thrilled at the cadence of your prose, bold and unafraid. As a philosopher, I marveled at the underlying truth you captured, that the sovereign soul is one that refuses to be caged. As a scholar, I found myself in awe of the careful interweaving of politics, passion, and power. You do not simply recount her story, you resurrect it, radiant and unruly, like Kristina herself stepping once more into the court of our collective conscience.
Of course, minor clarifications remain, Kristina’s title of “King” was symbolic more than personal declaration, the plow quote more paraphrase than citation, and Bernini’s final gift hovers somewhere between fact and lore. Yet none of these soften the brilliance of your telling. In both spirit and substance, this is a beautifully wrought work, fiercely alive and deserving of a wide and thoughtful readership.
This is a fascinating story, and your engaging and powerful narrative style brings it to life! I am both touched and inspired by Kristina's life. I've lived in Sweden for several years, and learned about the lives of several prominent kings, but was never aware of Kristina. Maybe I've heard her name uttered here and there but it never really registered. Even the Swedish Royal Palace's website presents her in a wishy washy way, devoid of the kind of details that you have so meticulously gathered here. Kudos! I'm now inspired to "Dress how you wish, speak what you believe, love who you love."